Walk On
by Icicle Raindream
Summary: (Songfic) Heero needs the advice only one person can give him.


Songfic

"Walk On" lyrics by Bono, music by U2

fanfiction by: Icicle Raindream

Disclaimer: I own nothing importantly connected to Gundam Wing, therefore I make nothing off writing fiction about it.

Notes: ARGH! Does anybody have a song that HAUNTS them? Well, this song has haunted me for as long as I can remember since U2's new album came out, and I finally found something to write to it! Heh…I've been kind of in this slump. It's not exactly writer's block, it's more like writer's lazyness. Ever have an idea in your head that you just don't have enough energy to write through? That's my problem. Amazingly though, this just came to me the other night. I hope you guys enjoy…I majorly depressed myself with this, so…drop me a line if you like! "^-^"

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And love is not the easy thing

The only baggage you can bring…

And love is not the easy thing…

The only baggage you can bring

Is all that you can't leave behind

He thinks I don't see it. Heero doesn't know that he can't hide it from me. He doesn't know that I see everything that goes on with him, everything that he keeps bundled up inside, everything that he projects through his actions. He has no idea that I know. That I can tell. That I can see. That I still care.

He doesn't know that I feel his loneliness. That every morning I sit there at the kitchen table with him and drink cold coffee and read wearisome newspaper articles about things that don't even interest me. Like how well the Vice Foreign Minister's processions are flowing. Like how well life is being lived not only on Earth, but on the colonies as well, because of one single person, the person in charge. He doesn't know that I can see those large liquid eyes, that cobalt that drips from his irises as his finger absentmindedly traces some illogical pattern across the smooth wood of the table. That I can see how he sits, slumped over in his chair, one hand holding his head up. That I can hear his breathing, a tranquil rise and fall of his chest.

He doesn't know that I follow him to the bathroom every morning, where he takes a steaming hot shower but somehow manages not to feel a thing as he washes. It's almost like the hot water just pours over him without ever touching his skin. But he doesn't know that. Heero never notices.

But I can't tell him, at least not by mouth. It's too hard for us both. I never knew how he would react. I didn't know that I had such an effect on him. I always had Heero figured as some rock-solid boy, someone who knew what he wanted and wouldn't change just because of one person. He knew the ups and downs of life and he knew how to get around them, and that was his gift. The soldier gift he no longer knew of or believed in. He's forgotten everything he learned, everything that would take him around this section of his life and get him past it. But I can't tell him.

He doesn't know that I see him at work, sitting dolefully at his desk with his forehead resting on his hands, his dark hair thrown forward. Of all the things that never changed about Heero, it was that unkempt hair. It had become his trademark, something I had become accustomed to and yet still stared at every chance I got.

And I wish I could tell him. I wish I had the words. I wish I could grab him up from that desk, slap him alive, and wake his melancholy soul up. I wish I could hand him his life, what it had become, on a platter and then dump it into his lap, to show him that this was not the dish he ordered. He wanted something better. He deserved something better. But he denied himself of that one thing, the one thing he needed to get the right portion of his life back in order. And the only thing I can do is cry. In my heart, in my apologetic soul, all I can do is cry, because I am the one to blame.

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And if the darkness is to keep us apart

And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off

And if your glass heart should crack

And for a second you turn back

Oh, no, be strong

But he doesn't hear my pleas. With all of my being I try to project them onto him, but he doesn't hear it. I need him to. He needs him to. But it just doesn't work. He needs to be strong, for me, for himself, for the world.

Heero doesn't know that I know when he gets home. He doesn't know that I can hear him dragging his heels tiredly up the stairs, stiff-legged after sitting in those monotonous conferences for half his days, unsuited to spend the rest of his life sitting down. He doesn't know that I can see him pull the covers dejectedly up to his chin the minute he lays in bed. He doesn't know that I know he never falls asleep easily anymore.

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Walk on, walk on

What you got they can't steal it

No they can't even feel it

Walk on, walk on

Stay safe tonight

Heero doesn't know that I can see him packing his bag. He doesn't know that he places his socks next to his shirts in the suitcase because I always did it that way for him in his dresser drawers. He doesn't know that I think the house is so quiet, so dull as he pads softly back and forth from the closet to the bag on the bed. He doesn't know that I can feel the sunlight descending through the curtains, bathing us both in a glorious golden shine. He doesn't know that if he just opened his eyes he could see us both there.

And Heero doesn't feel the horror spread through my bones as I continue watching him pack his bag. He doesn't know of the cold terror streaking through my chest as he picks the thick weapon up and clicks something on it. He doesn't hear my muffled cry of anguish as he stuffs the gun into the waistband of his pants. He doesn't know that I know he'll finish his work and then that'll be the end of it. Of everything. Of all we worked for, together. He doesn't know I know.

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You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been

A place that has to be believed to be seen

You could have flown away

A singing bird in a cage

Who will only fly, only fly for the freedom

Heero doesn't notice as I sit next to him on the shuttle. He doesn't acknowledge my presence as I lean over his shoulder and peer at his laptop along with him. He doesn't feel my hand cover his. It's okay, for I retract my hand quickly. I've never felt his skin so cold before.

But he doesn't feel the cold. The biting sting of it has no effect on him whatsoever. He just continues to click his small buttons and change screens and seemingly carry on without a doubt. It's all an act, but he doesn't know I can see through it. Heero doesn't know.

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Walk on, walk on

What you've got they can't deny it

Can't sell it, can't buy it

Walk on, walk on

Stay safe tonight

Heero doesn't know that as he sits on the bed of his hotel room, solidly fisting the gun in his right hand, that I'm sitting right behind him. He can't feel the pressure of my form on the mattress; he thinks he's all alone. He can't see the path that his life could have taken. All he sees is the path it _did_. The path he can most definitely change, given the right incentive.

And just before the hostile weapon reaches Heero's temple, I move closer. Forward, pressing myself to him, sliding my hands around his torso, smoothing over the woven silk of his work shirt. Resting my head on his shoulder, where the skin is undoubtedly warm, pulsing with life beneath the fabric, flowing with heated blood. I close my eyes against him, nuzzling my head into his neck, against the tan intensity of his collar.

He is frozen, momentarily tranquilized, as something crinkles in his pocket. The chest pocket of his silk shirt, on the left side where my hand seems to rest. The weapon is slightly lowered from his head as he glances down at his clothes. One of his muscled hands reaches into the pocket and withdraws a flat, rectangular object with a glossy surface. A photograph.

I have to tell him. I try the very best I can to convey my message to my lost significant other. I squeeze him harder as the words ebb from inside me.

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And I know it aches

And your heart it breaks

You can only take so much

Walk on, walk on

Heero doesn't know that I can see the dumbfounded look on his face as he stares at the picture. I turn my head and look at him, smooth my eyes over the skin on his face, the tanned hue of his flesh, so alive, so youthful, so warm. He doesn't know I can see the miniscule smile curving the very edges of his mouth. He doesn't see as I look down at the picture with him and gaze at myself. 

I never knew he had it. I didn't know he took a picture of me with him everywhere he went. I didn't know that I had meant that much to him. I thought the reason he had become Vice Foreign Minister was because the position abruptly needing filling and he was the wisest choice. I didn't know that he took it for me, because it was what I had secretly wanted. I didn't know he knew that.

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Home…hard to know what it is if you've never had one

Home…I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home

That's where the hurt is

I think he knows now--the picture is deposited back into his pocket. I think he knows that I can see him as he walks back through our front door. I think he sees me waiting at the second floor landing as he climbs the steps. I think he can tell that my arms are spread open. He knows I saw him discard the weapon. He knows it hurts. He can feel the ache and know that I feel it, too. He knows that he's not alone. Not then, not now, not ever. He will never be alone, as long as the ache is still there. It is the proof he needs to know he is still alive, and somewhere within him, I am too.

Heero knows now. I can see him and he can see me, sometimes, deep within his own rationality, someplace he has tucked down inside, deep within his soul, within the fragments of his memory. And somewhere out there, he knows I am always waiting for the time, the correct time and place where and when he can join me in eternity. It's not yet, but he knows it, and it makes a difference now.

He knows I can see him as he spends one last night outside, as the heavens collapse under rainfall, the cleansing droplets bathing him as he leans against the gray stone marker, set at the edge of our property. He can feel my arms around him as he sleeps peacefully, his weight held by the cold, wet stone, with the words shining so close to his heart, the words he never thought would be spoken after the few short years he'd had me by his side.

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Vice Foreign Minister Relena Peacecraft-Darlian laid to rest, AC199.

But it will be okay. I know it will. Heero knows it will. He got his gift back. The ability to deal with tragic experiences in his life, to handle situations seeming so fictitious they couldn't possibly be true. He knows what he has to do because I finally got my message across to him. My soul was saved. Heero's soul was saved. Every sin purged from us both, because we both know what must be done.

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Leave it all behind

You've got to leave it all behind

All that you fashion

All that you make

All that you build

And all that you break

All that you measure

All that you feel

All this you can leave behind…

We will find each other again, I know we will. It is our destiny, when the time comes.


End file.
